Courtlaw. Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. His clothes had evidently seen some service, and were plentifully begrimed with the dust of the workshop. Michelle was on her like a fly, asking her questions about her past foster homes she did her best to avoid, pretending to be swamped every night with sudden reams of homework and unable to be reached by phone. But although startled and clearly afraid, there was no self-consciousness in her gaze and she was standing her ground. ’ ‘He let them go?’ asked Miss Froxfield incredulously.
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